If thou would’st view fair Melrose aright,
  Go visit it by the pale moonlight;
  For the gay beams of lightsome day
  Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey. 
  When the broken arches are black in night,
  And each shafted oriel glimmers white;
  When the cold light’s uncertain shower
  Streams on the ruin’d central tower;
  When buttress and buttress, alternately,
  Seem framed of ebon and ivory;
  When silver edges the imagery. 
  And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die;
  When distant Tweed is heard to rave,
  And the owlet to hoot o’er the dead man’s grave,
  Then go—­but go alone the while—­
  Then view St. David’s ruin’d pile;
  And, home returning, soothly swear. 
  Was ever scene so sad and fair?

I reminded my brother that there would be no moon visible that night, and that it would therefore be impossible to see the old abbey “by the pale moonlight”; but he said the starlight would do just as well for him, so we had to wait until one or two stars made their appearance, and then departed, calling at a shop to make a few small purchases as we passed on our way.  The path alongside the abbey was entirely deserted.  Though so near the town there was scarcely a sound to be heard, not even “the owlet to hoot o’er the dead man’s grave.”  Although we had no moonlight, the stars were shining brightly through the ruined arches which had once been filled with stained glass, representing the figures “of many a prophet and many a saint.”  It was a beautiful sight that remained in our memories long after other scenes had been forgotten.

According to the Koran there were four archangels:  Azrael, the angel of death; Azrafil, who was to sound the trumpet at the resurrection; Gabriel, the angel of revelations, who wrote down the divine decrees; and Michael, the champion, who fought the battles of faith,—­and it was this Michael whose figure Sir Walter Scott described as appearing full in the midst of the east oriel window “with his Cross of bloody red,” which in the light of the moon shone on the floor of the abbey and “pointed to the grave of the mighty dead” into which the Monk and William of Deloraine had to descend to secure possession of the “Mighty Book.”

After passing the old abbey and the shade of the walls and trees to find our way to the narrow and rough road along which we had to travel towards Hawick, we halted for a few moments at the side of the road to arrange the contents of our bags, in order to make room for the small purchases we had made in the town.  We had almost completed the readjustment when we heard the heavy footsteps of a man approaching, who passed us walking along the road we were about to follow.  My brother asked him if he was going far that way, to which he replied, “A goodish bit,” so we said we should be glad of his company; but he walked on without speaking to us further.  We pushed the remaining things in our bags as quickly